


Tempered Glass Shatters Under Extreme Circumstances.

by thearchivizt



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angry TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dadza comfort time!, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), SadBlade, Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, everything is platonic. they r family, he's got a lot pent up :(
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:48:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearchivizt/pseuds/thearchivizt
Summary: Despite the piglin's strong, stoic demeanor, he found himself crumbling before the mighty hybrid. His knees buckled, the blade driving his sword into the white earth before crumpling against it. Suddenly, it was as if he was nothing more than a boy playing pretend with a plastic crown perched upon his head and a wooden sword at his side.Despite his might, despite his power, he was nothing but a kid.In which Technoblade is sad and can really only take so much before falling apart.(Takes place after the events of January 5th and 6th)
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 202





	1. And when it does, it does so in Style!

**Author's Note:**

> hello !! hi :-) im sorry if this is out of character at all i dont rlly write fics all that much i just :/ siiigh. as a technoblade apologist i have many thoughts about how everyone has betrayed him so. here they are but he gets to be sad! huzzah!!!! i hope u enjoy :-)

It was a cold, cold day in the Dream SMP. 

The air was thick with dust and gunpowder, ash fluttering about the same way snow does back home. In the center of the gray stood the blade, sword in one hand and a black skull in the other. The prideful man felt _nothing_ as he stared at the crater he, Philza, and Dream had made. Just like he felt _nothing_ when Tommy jabbed a knife between his shoulders, betraying him for what the piglin hybrid could only hope was the last time. He doubted it would be.

After was felt like too long Philza returned to his side, slinking his arm around his shoulders. “Should we get going?”

Techno forced a nod, setting his jaw and heading back for the cabin. Philza followed close behind, eyes darting about and lingering upon the president of L’Manberg for a bit.

The kids eyes were lidded, face coated in a smattering of soot and blood. Tommy stood at his side, arm across his shoulder in a similar manner to Philza’s own. He had been rambling, hands wildly moving around before he came to a sudden halt. His head whipped around to meet Philza’s gaze, and he glowered at the man with a stare as dangerous as the hybrid himself. It said all it had to. 

There was hatred boiling behind that boy's graying eyes, and there was regret laced in Philza’s own.

**・‥…━━━☆**

The two had been walking for quite a while, and typically a walk such as this one would’ve resulted in some light banter or maybe, on rare occasion, a snowball fight. Philza always initiated them. The coy man would do it when Techno least expected it; he’d kneel down, ball a wad, and shove it down the piglin hybrid’s collar with the heartiest laugh and broadest grin. Techno would thrash, curse up a storm and threaten to make him pay for it. Philza would soar ahead with a cackle and a slew of snowballs nestled in his arms.

But again, this walk was different.

This walk felt like one of shame.

The silence was heavy and woeful, not the celebration they both expected to have. L’Manberg was _gone_ , the government was _destroyed_ , and yet celebrating was the last thing Technoblade longed to do.

Breaking the silence was the younger man, voice gravelly, thick, and weepy, as if he were about to cry. “Phil, I’m a... person, aren’t I?” Technoblade croaks, his grip upon his blade tightening as his legs shook. “ _Dumb_ question, I know, but,” he trails off with a heavy cough. “I, I don't know I just don’t understand why he doesn't get that?” 

“Of course you are.” Phil said immediately, as if he expected the question. Though he seemed a bit taken aback at the latter part. “He’s just a kid, Techno.” Philza murmurs, guiding him back to their humble abode. “He’s still got a lot to learn. You know he’s stubborn.”

Techno was quiet for a moment, limbs stiff. The powdery snow felt thick like soul sand against his worn out legs, roots from his thoughts extending and wrapping themselves around his ankles to keep him planted for a moment. And he’s quiet, to Philza’s surprise, not even sparing a quip about their own little Theseus. He couldn’t think of one with the voices chanting nicknames in his head. Mocking him. 

_Sadblade_ , the voices whispered with a condescending tone. _Cringeblade! Weakblade,_ they continued mercilessly, and Techno was frigid. 

He could hear his father call for him though he sounded miles away, his airy voice traveling only so far. “Techno?” Philza said gently, shoving his sword into its sheath. The wind whipped around the two intensely, a timid hand clamping itself overtop the hat he treasured so dearly. “Techno, come on, it’s cold out here. You’ll get sick. We’re close, just a few more steps and we can talk inside.”

He doesn’t respond, foggy eyes staring forward at the snow littering the sky. Little flakes, tiny and young. Typically episodes like these could be stowed away, tucked into a chest and stifled with a potion or two, but this was a long time coming.

This couldn’t wait anymore, though he fucking longed for it to.

Perhaps it was the stress of keeping Tommy safe that had finally broken him, all the worry that boy had brought to him started weighing him down. There was only so much he could take before he shattered. The aforementioned nothingness from earlier was apparently synonymous with _a lot,_ actually . Nothing equated to _too fucking much_.

Philza’s eyes linger on his son's distant features, watching with concern. “Tech, we should go inside.” He suggests once more, no, _urges_. “Let’s talk by the fire. Get you a cuppa and relax.” He pauses, adding a light “plan our next method of attack, maybe.” The silence was deafening.

Despite the piglin's strong, stoic demeanor, he found himself crumbling before the mighty hybrid. His knees buckled, the blade driving his sword into the white earth before crumpling against it. Suddenly, it was as if he was nothing more than a boy playing pretend with a plastic crown perched upon his head and a wooden sword at his side.

Despite his might, despite his power, he was nothing but a kid.

It was wholly out of character, to see one as high as he to be so low, but Philza minded not. He welcomed it with open arms, though they quivered some before wrapping around the man he entrusted with his whole being. His brows knitted together as he gulped thickly, murmuring soft reassurances. Technoblade failed to respond, save for the few hiccups and gulps he released, shaky sighs and wet sobs filling the air between them.

He started to rub circles into his back. “It’s okay, take your time.” The cloth of the pigs cape was gentle against his calloused fingers, nearly as comforting as the familiar motions were to Techno himself. He hadn’t felt the touch since he was a kid but he recognized it was a grounder. 

Techno couldn’t remember what happened fully, the edges of the memories cloudy, faded, and doused with a violently red overlay. Philza told him it was an accident. “ You didn’t mean to,” he said. “It’s not your fault, Tech. You didn’t mean to.” Even Wilbur though he was battered and bruised insisted the same. He didn’t blame him for a thing. It was Techno who blamed himself. _  
_

It was like something had snapped within him that day whilst the duo frolicked, swords clattering against one another frequently. Philza sat with Tommy on his lap, the striped bucket hat on the boy's head. It was too big for him, the brim covering his eyes. Philza laughed at the sight, a prideful warmth flooding through his chest. _  
_

That faded when the clashing stopped and he heard panting, low murmurs of a Blood God needing to be served flooded into his ears. He deserted Tommy, running through the field and calling out for the boys. A young Technoblade stood with bloodied limbs, and an even younger Wilbur lay with blood spilling from his nose, trickling down and gathering at his chin. _  
_

“It’s okay!” He had said, “it’s fine!” He insisted. “We just got too into it!” _  
_

Techno could only be soothed by those circular motions and Wilbur’s low, muffled hums. Nothing else seemed to suck him from the mad state he was thrusted into.

Of course now that he’s older he’s able to regulate that sort of thing, built a vague immunity to the voices like one does to an allergy. Sometimes though they pushed through the walls. Sometimes they won.

Techno’s breathing slowed the longer he sat in Philza’s arms, shifting to something more regular than the panicked heaves he resorted to prior. He curled into himself, head resting on his fathers knees as the man wearily petted his head. His fingers toyed with the pink strands that fell from his braid, coiling them around his fingers. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Philza reassured. “What’s going on, Tech, talk me through it.”

What’s going on? _What’s going on?_ So, so much. Too much, it felt like.

He had let Tommy in, brought him home, kept him under his wing. He had fought for him, put aside his own wishes to see _Tommy_ succeed, to see his brother _smile_ again. And for what? For _this?_

He wasn’t sure how to articulate any of that, not in this state, so he went with the safe: “I don’t know,” words uttered so faintly and meekly that they might as well haven’t been said at all.

Philza tips his head, lips pursing gently before spreading into a smile. “That’s okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to know everything.” The cold nips at his nose and he sniffles, nostrils flaring. “We’ll sit here for however long you need, and then we can get you that tea. How’s that sound?”

Rather than saying good like Philza expected, the boy uttered one lonely word, that being “cold.”

“Hm?” He mused, continuing to trace stiff shapes. The velvet fabric would shift hues when pushed a certain way, so he mindlessly played with that whilst they sat.

“You’re cold.”

Philza had started to shiver though he didn’t realize it at the time. “Oh.” So he was. However if Techno would rather sit here than their home, then of course he was happy to comply. He’d do anything for the kid. “Nah, I’m fine.” He shifted some, letting out an icy sigh as he rolled his shoulders back. Then with a subtle snap, out sprung his black wings, the edges of which were frayed and burnt, tattered. They weren’t fit for flying anymore, only small ascensions at most. He didn’t mind all that much. The man ruffled his feathers before majestically enveloping the two in a warm, insulated cocoon. 

“See? Nice and toasty.”

“Mm.”

The two sat like this for quite some time before Technoblade opened his mouth again. He had let himself cry, tears that collected like dew drops upon his lashes now froze over, decorating the peachy things with crystals. Noticing him stir Philza drew his wings back, peering down. He met his eyes, exhaustion clear in his face. “We can go,” he says.

“You sure?”

Technoblade grunted in response, using the sword he drove into the ground for support. Philza kept a hand splayed across his shoulder, massaging it some.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”

With that they both finally made their way back home.


	2. But it can be Fixed...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after some tea a sweet little pig tries to catch a few winks, to no avail of course. gee whillikers i wonder what this could be setting up! oh golly!

Technoblade shoved the door open lethargically, kicking his boots off and hanging his cape. The motions were rigid and robotic, the man simply on autopilot as he settled down. He tossed his crown off and hung that too whilst tightening the sash upon his waist, fingers rubbing his eyes until his vision grew spotty. Philza followed closely behind, leaning his weapon against the wooden wall and removing his coat. He takes off his boots too, delicately making his way towards the fireplace. He loads the planks tepidly, striking flint and steel afterwards. The fire crackles as Techno takes a seat upon their couch. 

“What type of tea would you like?” Philza asks, traversing through the illagers and filling a pot with warm water.

It takes him a bit to respond, head still somewhat cloudy. A throbbing began to form behind his brows, making it even harder to really gather his thoughts. “The uh, the chamomile one. With lavender.”

Philza props the pot upon a stick in the fireplace, allowing it to boil while he collects two cups and tea bags, flicking them absentmindedly. “Get closer to the fire, warm up.” He suggests. Techno ignores it for now, instead choosing to unbraid his hair. The strands of pink flow down his back, hardly an elegant sight. His hair was segmented and somewhat greasy from hours of being in the same style. The snow that littered the parts began to melt, dampening the strands. He starts digging at his scalp, scratching it. Then his hands move to his forehead, fingers pinching the spot to alleviate some pressure. When he realized he hadn’t responded, he simply let out a hum.

The hybrid doesn’t try to talk after that. He felt it wasn’t necessary, and with the grilling he was bound to do shortly he didn’t want to exhaust Techno yet. So he makes their tea whilst humming a light tune, a melody, and when the cups are done he brings them over. Softly, he blows the liquid, murmuring “it’ll be hot. But you know that,” before parceling it his way.

The piglin smiles with gratitude, fingers lacing around the warm mug. He taps his index finger against it rhythmically, knee bouncing to a similar beat. They’re both quiet, save for the slurping and guzzling, but soon that silence is replaced by Philza asking “are you feeling any better?”

Technoblade pauses, resting the cup in his lap as he fully stills. He turns his gaze to the fire, watching the golden embers lap at the bark and consume it. It reminded him of L’Manberg. The ashes of it, anyways. He turns back to Philza and shrugs. “I’m fine.” Philza gives him a look.

Despite how much smack both Phil and Techno give Tommy in regards to opening up, the piglin was never great at doing just that. Talking was difficult enough but getting emotions involved made it far harder than it had to be. The household only knew one emotion well, and that was anger. They were rather proficient in that.

Albeit reluctantly the teen makes an attempt to continue, searching for the right words to say. “I’m uh, hurt I think. It doesn’t really matter, honestly.” He brushes it off. “I don’t know why any of it bothers me that much. It shouldn’t. He’s just some dumb kid fighting for some dumb government.” He shouldn’t care about it at all.

“You’re allowed to be hurt, Tech.”

His teeth catch his lip, digging into the chapped flesh intensely as his gaze sweeps downward. He peers into the peach hued liquid with distaste. “Not over this.” He says lamely, throat tightening. “It’s stupid, it’s-”

“Okay, is what it is.” Philza insists, planting a palm atop Techno’s knee. He squeezes it endearingly, trying to bait his son’s eyes into meeting his own. “What happened back there was…” Fucked up. “It,” was cruel? It was unfair? “It was scuffed mate, and you’ve got every right to be hurt by it.”

Techno downs the rest of his tea with a sudden, jerky motion, one that was met with another long embrace from his father. This time he doesn’t cry, he simply lets himself be instead. He allows himself to be held and coddled, allows the comfort and exhaustion to really settle in, leaving him like putty in the man’s arms. “Thank you Phil.” He says while stifling a yawn. Limply he pulls himself away from the hybrid and leans back against the couch. He’s exhausted, Phil must be too. He ought to get up and head to bed, but moving is oh so much work, and he was so comfortable with his father nearby. So he slipped away into a fitful night’s rest. 

That only lasts so long before he wakes with a start, eyes popping open. He’s greeted with a nearly pitch room, the fire having gone out hours ago and leaving merely ash in its wake. He struggles to adjust, squinting as he wildly whipped his head around. After spotting a sleeping Philza beside him he feels himself breathe again, and everything is fine. He tries to relax, but one phrase eats away at him. The voices are awfully persistent when they want something to get done. Like Tommy, in a way. 

_See him,_ they demand. _Talk to him!_ And Techno tries to ignore them. Tries is the key word here. Just like he tried to lay back down and he tried to fall back asleep, even going so far as to lean against Philza’s shoulder in a poor attempt to lull himself back to sleep. But the blade was up, and the blade had a chore to do.

He had to see Tommy.

Quietly and illusively he rose from the couch, trying to dodge any of the floorboards that might creak when too much weight was put upon them. He does this artfully whilst grabbing his gear and scribbling a note for Phil.

_Out on a run. Be back later._

It's vague and could easily be seen through, but the tired piglin couldn't bother to put anymore effort into the letter, not with Tommy being chanted over and over again in his head.

"I get it already," he grumbles. "I'm goin." 

**・‥…━━━☆**

It’s hot in L’Manberg, the fire that raged on and claimed countless of homes insulated everyone rather well. It licked at one brave Tommy’s heels as he ran through the flames, yelling and screaming, fighting for the country he had made. The president was by his side, loyal but tired. He could only do so much. As the flames began to dim and the sun started to set, the two made their way to a bench they were rather familiar with, jagged rocks in their bloodied hands.

Tommy had been rambling, and Tubbo was trying to follow it to the best of his ability though the sea of stars above him and the exhaustion in his bones made it somewhat hard. Months of donning this suit and being the president only for it to end up the way it had really took a lot out of him. Everything felt almost pointless. The sacrifices he had made were for not. He lazadasically wiped at his cheek and tugged his collar, catching the tail end of what Tommy had been spewing.

“This fucking country is _ours!”_ He says, voice cracking. “And we’ve got to protect it!” With that he drove his fist into the bench, the motion making Tubbo jolt slightly before settling back down.

“This country is a crater, Tommy,” he mumbled.

“And it’s all that bastard pigs fault!” Tommy hopped up from the bench, squaring his stance. He tossed the rock in the air, letting it spin before catching it with the opposite hand. “Ohh and when I find him, that fucking bitch, I’ll..! You don’t even _wanna_ know Tubs! It’ll be all like, FWOOSH! KA BLAM!” He swung at the air with his pebble, jabbing the space near Tubbo violently. “I’ll cut his fucking head off man! Show him what a government _really_ is!”

Tubbo musters a smile. It’s small and weak but it’s there, and that’s enough for Tommy as he returns it in full. With passion he sat back down, bouncing idly on the bench. Then he turned to the back of it, gave his rock one last flip before carving TOMMY in sharp, quick motions. 

“Ghostbur showed me this at Logstedshire,” he reminisces briefly, adding an exclamation point and some other lines to make his graffiti really _pop_. “He told me it’d make the place feel more like home if I uh, tagged it? I think he said?” He grabbed Tubbo’s wrist lightly, pulling it close and tapping the plank of wood with the president’s own rock. “Since this bench is ours, let’s make sure everyone fucking knows it.”

The smile grows and Tubbo complies, scrawling a delicate and bubbly TUBBO directly beside his friends' markings. He laughs, the sound soft and light. It was almost foreign. He hadn’t laughed in so long he thought he might’ve forgotten how to. The shy sound blends marvelously with Tommy’s own, making a brilliant harmony, and for a moment all is well.

Only for a moment though.

Heavy footsteps begin to infiltrate the song they were creating, sour notes overpowering the rest and drowning it out. 

“Toms. Let’s have a chat.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you once again for reading :-) the support i’ve gotten on this so far has been rlly rlly sweet idk :’> u guys r very swell! anyways it's tommy time baby!!!! sorry this was mostly filler and resolution stuff grovels at ur feet . also idk why the last chapters notes appear under this i dont know how this website works bear with me

**Author's Note:**

> cringes thank you for reading :-)! ive got another chapter ready 2 go but um :-) if you want more of this id b down to write a few more things like maybe a tommy and techno conversation that could be silly and fun chuckles i dont wanna get too ahead of myself though! if thats smth u might be interested in lmk and have a splendiferous evening! subscribe 2 technoblade everypony


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